In the Blink of an Eye

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  Julia hears the despair building in his voice and dares to speak up again. “It was an accident, Rupert.”

  But this time, her words don’t soothe him. This time, he seems to snap out of a daze.

  She can feel the sudden tension behind her as he barks, “Get over there.” He pokes her in the back again with the gun. “Across the room. Against the wall. All of you. Go.”

  Dulcie whimpers. Julia reaches for her arm.

  “Don’t move!” Rupert snarls.

  “I have to help her walk. She can’t see.”

  “Really? She can see when she wants to. She saw my daughter. Move.”

  Julia falters, glancing at Paine, who sends her a look that says, Do exactly what he wants you to do.

  “Straight ahead, Dulcie,” Julia says under her breath. “There’s nothing in your way. Nothing between you and the wall. Just keep going.”

  “What’s he going to do to us?” Dulcie asks, a tremor in her voice.

  “Shut up!” the old man growls.

  Julia wonders what happened to the Rupert Biddle she knew.

  But you never knew him. All these years, you’ve seen him around town, talked to him, even admired him. . .

  She never suspected what he was capable of doing . . . or the lengths he would go to in order to protect his secret.

  He’s going to kill us, all of us, to keep us quiet.

  No. That can’t happen. I won’t let it. Not now. Not like this.

  Is this what Kristin felt at the end? And Iris?

  Julia has reached the wall. She darts a glance around the room as she turns gingerly to face her captor, checking for a possible escape. A door is ajar just a few feet away, leading to a bathroom. But she doesn’t dare make a break for it. The three of them could never get inside before Rupert started shooting, and even if they could, he would shoot through the flimsy-looking wooden door.

  There’s a sudden sputtering, choking sound from the bed.

  Rupert glances at Nan.

  She’s still struggling, damn it. Can’t Rupert see that she needs him? Can’t he forget about all the rest of it? Just drop the gun, and go to his wife, and take her into his arms?

  Julia looks at Paine, who appears ready to seize the moment that Rupert’s attention is diverted. But the old man looks sharply back at them, the gun still aimed in their direction.

  “Please, Rupert, you have to think about what you’re doing, here. You have to get hold of yourself and think about the consequences.”

  As Paine speaks, Julia finds herself taking strength from his presence, from the calm in his voice.

  Dulcie is between them, quivering in fear. Julia knows that if Rupert raises the gun, Paine will shield his daughter with his body. And so will Julia.

  Again, rage comes to mingle with her fright. This time, it grows stronger. How dare he threaten to hurt an innocent child? How dare he threaten any of them?

  She thinks about Kristin. About Iris.

  Rupert killed them. He must have. But why?

  Then, in the blink of an eye, it all becomes clear.

  “That’s what Kristin saw, isn’t it?”

  Rupert jerks his head abruptly at the sound of Julia’s voice. His gray gaze narrows.

  Drawing courage from deep inside—from the place that still aches for the lost friend she loved like a sister—Julia takes a deep breath and lifts her chin, boldly facing Rupert. “Kristin saw Katherine on the stairs that Halloween night, didn’t she? Covered in blood, like Dulcie said.”

  That’s it. That has to be it.

  “It scared the hell out of Kristin,” Julia goes on, understanding for the first time what must have happened. “It made her afraid of her gift, afraid of that house, afraid of Lily Dale. And when she came back three years ago and her mother had moved into that house, she saw it again, didn’t she? But . . . how did you know, Rupert? How did you know what she saw?”

  Miraculously, he responds to the question. With a derisive snort, he asks, “How did I know? She asked me about it, that’s how. Showed up on my doorstep one night right after she came back here, asking me questions. Questions that brought up a lot of bad memories that Nan didn’t need. Not right then. She had enough to worry about . . . she was getting sicker, and the doctor kept telling me that stress would make her worse. When that Shuttleworth girl came here and started talking about what she saw on the stairs in our house . . . Nan almost had a nervous breakdown. She just fell apart. Damn her. Damn that girl for what she did to Nan.”

  He’s insane, Julia thinks. He’s blaming Kristin for his wife’s being terminally ill. Is that what happened? He snapped? He snapped and he killed her?

  “She was terrified of the water, Rupert,” Paine says. “How did you get her out on a boat?”

  “She couldn’t have been that afraid.” His words are laced with derision. “All I did was call her and tell her I needed to talk to her about what she saw. I said I had remembered something I thought might help. Told her we had to talk someplace private, where nobody could hear us. Made her promise not to tell anyone she was meeting me. Guess she never told.”

  No, Kristin never told.

  And yes, she was afraid of the water. But not as afraid as she should have been.

  And not as afraid as she was of what lurked in the house at Ten Summer Street.

  Julia has to know the rest of it. “What about Iris?”

  “She came to me for a reading. Said she wanted me to put her in touch with her daughter’s spirit.”

  “When was this?”

  “Maybe a month ago. All that time went by, and then she had to dredge things up. She said she didn’t believe Kristin died accidentally, and that she wanted to contact her and find out what happened.”

  He trails off, shaking his head.

  “Did Kristin’s spirit come through?” Paine prods.

  “It sure did. It told Iris to stop snooping around. Told her that she was better off leaving it alone. But she didn’t want to listen.” He snorts again.

  Of course he never made contact with Kristin. He faked it. Did Iris see through him?

  “What did she do, Rupert?” Julia asks, trying to keep her voice steady.

  “I could tell she was suspicious. I couldn’t let her go any further. I couldn’t let her start talking to people, asking questions, trying to—”

  “So you snuck into her house when she was getting ready to take a bath, and you drowned her!” Julia knows her voice is shrill, knows she’s losing control, knows this is foolish, perilous. Yet she can’t seem to help herself. She takes a step toward Rupert, her fists clenched, heedless of the gun in his hands. “You bastard! You made her death look like an accident, too! And you thought you were going to get away with it! And you thought you were going to get the house back, so that nobody else would ever know. Then, when you realized what was happening with Dulcie, you came after her, too, didn’t you?”

  He simply nods.

  “There really was someone in the house yesterday,” Julia realizes. “It was you. You locked me in the basement, and you went after Dulcie, and if Andy hadn’t come along . . .”

  She trails off, suddenly aware that Rupert has stiffened. He’s glaring at her, murderous intention clear in his glittering gray eyes even before he raises the gun, holding it with both hands, taking aim at Julia.

  The click as he cocks the weapon is followed by another sound. A horrible sound . . .

  A loud, rattling sigh as Nan Biddle expels her last ragged breath.

  The old man freezes. He seems to be listening, his features transforming into a mask of alarm.

  “Noooo!” An unearthly howl escapes Rupert’s lips, a howl that chills Julia to the bone. He jerks around, facing the bed where his wife lies deathly still. “No! Nan!”

  In that moment, Paine makes his move, rushing forward.

  Julia grabs Dulcie and barrels toward the bathroom, hurtling inside the small room and slamming the door. She presses the button lock and looks frantically around for
an escape. There’s a small window above the toilet. It’s too small for her to squeeze through, but Dulcie would fit.

  “Listen, Dulcie,” she hisses at the little girl as she scrambles on top of the toilet seat and tugs on the window lock. “There’s a window here that I’m going to help you through. It isn’t a far drop to the ground. As soon as you’re out, Dulcie, I want you to . . . to . . .”

  To what?

  Julia can hear thumping and grunting as Paine and Rupert tussle in the next room. There’s a loud crash, as though a piece of furniture has toppled over.

  She can’t send Dulcie blindly running into the yard with a sharp drop-off to the lake on one side and the road on the other. Nor can she tell her to start screaming for help. Not when there’s a chance Rupert has already gotten the gun back and would go after the little girl.

  Distraught, Julia tries to figure out how to save the little girl. She has to get her out of this house. Any second now, Rupert could start shooting through the bathroom door.

  Maybe Dulcie’s best bet is to hide in the shrubs close to the foundation . . .

  Dulcie is sobbing, clinging to Julia’s legs as she shoves the window open. “What about you, Julia? What about Daddy? I don’t want to go out there alone!”

  “You have to, Dulcie. Don’t worry about us.” Julia struggles to unlatch the screen. It comes free. Dulcie’s escape route is clear.

  “Come on, Dulcie.” Julia swiftly pulls her up onto the toilet seat. “I want you to go legs first. I’ll help you. Come on.”

  “No! Please, Julia, don’t make me.”

  “Dulcie, you have to trust me. Please. I love you. I’m going to get you out of here so that he can’t hurt—”

  She breaks off at the sound of Paine’s sudden shout from the next room.

  “Rupert, no!”

  Julia’s breath catches in her throat.

  “Rupert, please don’t do it. Drop the—”

  Paine’s frantic plea is lost in the sudden blast of a single gunshot.

  SEATED AT THE outdoor café, about to bite into a thick roast beef sandwich on a salted kimmelweck roll, Miranda freezes.

  Kent looks up from his own sandwich, startled. “What was that?”

  “It must have been a firecracker. The Fourth of July is only a few days away.” Miranda bites into her sandwich.

  “Yeah, and by then, we should be finished with Cleveland and on to Cincinnati,” Kent says around a mouthful. “Maybe we can spend the Fourth on one of those riverboat rides. I’ll bet they have fantastic fireworks displays out there.”

  “I’ll bet you’re right. That sounds like fun.”

  But Miranda can’t help thinking that she isn’t ready to look ahead until she feels as though their work is done here. And it won’t be until they find out what’s under the lilac tree at Ten Summer Street.

  “PAINE? PAINE?”

  “Yes. I’m okay,” he manages to call to Julia behind the bathroom door.

  “Daddy!” Dulcie’s voice shouts, over Julia’s audible “Thank God.”

  Paine shudders, turning his back on the blood-splattered scene, closing his eyes to shut out the horror of what he just witnessed.

  Forcing himself to move, he walks to the bathroom door.

  It’s over. His body begins to shake. It’s over.

  He reaches out, tries to turn the knob. It’s locked.

  “Julia . . . ? It’s okay. You can—”

  She throws the door open. A tide of relief sweeps through Paine as he catches sight of his little girl standing there beside Julia, safe and sound. He hauls Dulcie into his arms, kissing her hair, holding her close.

  His raises his gaze to meet Julia’s above his daughter’s head.

  Her expression is somber. She has seen what lies behind him in the bedroom.

  Rupert’s body is draped across Nan’s on the bed, most of his head blasted away by the shot he fired at close range into his own temple.

  “I couldn’t get the gun away from him,” Paine says raggedly. “I tried . . .”

  “I know.”

  Paine lifts Dulcie, cradling her against his side with one arm. With the other, he reaches for Julia.

  “Come on,” he says softly, taking her hand. Her skin is icy. He can feel her trembling.

  “Can we go home, Daddy?” Dulcie whimpers, burying her face in his shoulder. “I want to go home now.”

  “Sure, Dulcie. We can go home. Let’s all go home.”

  He hears Julia swallow hard. Sees her gazing past him, at Nan and Rupert.

  “He didn’t want to live without her,” Paine says simply.

  Julia nods.

  I didn’t want to live without Kristin, either. But I had to go on. For Dulcie.

  For three years, he’s merely gone through the motions.

  But now . . .

  Now it’s over.

  Now he knows what happened.

  Now he can move on.

  Alone, with Dulcie.

  Just the two of them.

  He looks at Julia.

  Or maybe . . .

  No.

  He’s not ready for that.

  He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready for that again. What matters now is taking care of Dulcie, and learning how to live—really live—again.

  HER HEAD BENT and eyes closed, Julia listens to the dull thud of metal slamming into dirt.

  Sweat trickles down her temples. She wipes it away, praying for a breath of breeze to stir the hot, humid air.

  Thunder rumbles in the distance.

  The weather service is predicting a big storm this afternoon—one that’s sure to break the muggy heat wave as well as ruin tonight’s scheduled Fourth of July fireworks display over the lake. Julia figures that wouldn’t have been any fun without Paine and Dulcie, anyway. They weren’t planning to go down to the waterfront with her. They’re leaving first thing tomorrow morning, their trip having been postponed several days already. Paine said he wants Dulcie to get a good night’s sleep, and the fireworks wouldn’t have started until almost ten o’clock.

  Julia’s eyes snap open at a sudden clanking sound.

  A few feet away, a detective’s shovel has struck something solid in the widening hole around the lilac tree in the yard at Ten Summer Street.

  The man bends over to examine it.

  Julia’s breath catches in her throat.

  “It’s just a rock,” a nearby police officer mutters.

  The detective puts it aside and, with two other investigators, resumes digging.

  A few minutes later, they finally manage to wrestle the lilac’s root ball loose from the soil. It takes all three sweat-soaked detectives and several cops to carefully remove the large shrub from the spot where it has grown since that tragic, long ago April day.

  Julia looks at Paine, standing beside her. He raises an eyebrow as if to ask, Hanging in there?

  She nods slightly.

  Beside them, Miranda Cleary whispers something into Kent Gilman’s ear.

  Julia is glad they were given permission by the police to be here, too. Granted, the cops still aren’t convinced they’re going to find anything buried under this tree. And they all but said Miranda’s audiotapes were a hoax.

  But an investigation into the Biddles’ past confirmed that there is no trace of Katherine Biddle’s existence after the April of her junior year in high school. Records show that she never returned from spring break, and that her parents transferred her to a boarding school. Nobody ever thought to confirm their story. And nobody ever saw her again.

  Silence hangs over the yard, broken only by the steady rhythm of the shovels sinking lower into the earth where the shrub once stood

  Julia’s thoughts turn to Rupert Biddle. Even now, days later, she remains stunned at the discovery that her neighbor was capable of killing Kristin and Iris to protect his terrible secret.

  He killed poor Lincoln Reynolds, too.

  When the police went out to his Sinclairville farm to question him ab
out Katherine Biddle’s decades-old disappearance, they discovered his body. The bullets were traced to Rupert Biddle’s gun, and Lincoln’s telephone records revealed that he placed a call to the Biddle residence on what was probably the day he died. Nobody will ever know what was said during that conversation. But whatever it was infuriated Rupert enough to send him over to Lincoln’s place to kill the man he still loathed.

  A ripple of little-girl laughter drifts into the yard through Pilar’s open window.

  Julia looks up in that direction, and then over at Paine. A faint smile touches his lips.

  Dulcie is in Pilar’s kitchen, baking brownies. Pilar, who flew back from her cruise the moment she learned of the Biddles’ deaths, volunteered to baby-sit the little girl while the digging takes place. “Don’t worry, I’ll distract her. She’ll be busy and happy,” Pilar said cheerfully.

  The excavation wears on.

  Heat lightning sizzles over the lake.

  The air is oppressive, the sky ominously overcast.

  All the world seems to be holding its breath.

  Then . . .

  “I’ve got something,” the detective announces, dropping his shovel and crouching at the hole. He reaches in, carefully brushing dirt aside with a gloved hand as the others press closer.

  “It looks like a bone,” he announces grimly.

  Julia’s stomach turns over.

  Miranda Cleary lets out a low wail.

  It’s what they were expecting, and yet . . .

  Julia realizes that there was some part of her unwilling to believe that Rupert’s story was true. That he buried his daughter’s broken corpse in his own backyard.

  Wiping tears that mingle with the perspiration on her face, Julia looks up at Paine. She’s startled to see that his eyes, too, are glistening.

  Side by side, they watch in bleak silence as Katherine Biddle’s remains are unearthed, inch by agonizing inch.